


Mystery Man

by juniper_and_lamplight



Series: Close Reading [3]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Book Club, Books, Character Study, Gen, Libraries, Reading, Unapologetic coziness & fluff, mystery novels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-09-28 22:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20433548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniper_and_lamplight/pseuds/juniper_and_lamplight
Summary: “Crap is in the eye of the beholder, and life’s too short not to read whatever the heck you want.”





	Mystery Man

_ **Now** _

“Dangit, Mustard!”

Removing a hot tray of macaroons from the oven requires a certain amount of dexterity and speed, both of which are hampered by the orange tabby twining around Hobbs’ ankles, nearly toppling both him and his tray of cookies onto the faded kitchen linoleum. Once the tray is carefully deposited on a crocheted trivet (after all, he’d promised the ladies a treat, and Marsha will be so tickled to have something gluten-free), he checks on the cat, who sulks under the kitchen table, barely deigning to sniff Hobbs’ proffered index finger. 

“If you weren’t underfoot all the time, we wouldn’t have these problems,” he chides. Mustard, characteristically, doesn’t reply.

As the cookies cool, Hobbs tries to collect the various scattered items he needs to bring with him: his notepad, his sizeable stack of library returns, the scones he baked earlier in the day (because he’s still rather fond of gluten, himself), his keys, and...he sighs, realizing what’s missing. He must’ve left it at his desk at the station. Again. 

He dials Tina’s number and puts her on speaker, setting the phone on the formica kitchen countertop as he begins packing the macaroons into mismatched Tupperware containers. 

She doesn’t even say hello when she picks up. “Lemme guess.”

“C’mon Tina, just tell me if I left it there again.”

“I’m looking right at it, buddy.”

“Ah, fudge.” He checks his wristwatch—he can probably still make it if he hustles. “I’ll be right over.”

“Roger that.” She hangs up, and he extracts five cookies from the Tupperware, placing them into a separate plastic baggie. Five should be enough to pacify Tina—or at least make sure that she’s too busy eating to bust his chops. One quick stop at the station, and he’ll be on his way. 

* * *

_ **Then** _

In some ways, his fate was sealed before he was even born. His parents selected the name “Sherlock” months before he arrived, because they wanted their son to be like the Great Detective: intelligent, curious, determined, and loyal. 

He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t know who Sherlock Holmes was. When he was still at an Encyclopedia Brown reading level, his parents read him stories about Holmes’ adventures, and Hobbs absorbed them without realizing it, the same way he absorbed his parents’ expectations. Their mystery mania didn’t stop at Holmes, either; the bookshelves in their modest bungalow were overflowing with broken-spined hardcover classics and well-loved Golden Age paperbacks. By the time he finished high school, Sherlock Hobbs was as familiar with Poirot and Wimsey as he was with geometry or football plays or U.S. civics. He didn’t compare these mysteries to the books he read at school, or talk about them with his friends. But they were what he read when he couldn’t sleep, or when he was bored on a weekend afternoon, or when a sprained ankle left him benched from practice for weeks. Fictional crimes and the people who solved them were just part of the air he breathed, so pervasive that they were unremarkable.

It didn’t occur to him that such an atmosphere was somewhat rarefied in rural Montana until he began training to join the sheriff’s department. After his training group did a practice maneuver in a particularly vermin-infested barn, Hobbs unthinkingly made a joke about the giant rat of Sumatra...and then stammered his explanation into the confused silence that followed. 

“Always been more of a Jack Reacher man, myself,” one guy offered when Hobbs was done, clearly trying to defuse the awkwardness. 

“I like that Alex Cross,” piped up another, and as more voices chimed in, Hobbs flipped open his standard-issue notepad and wrote down every single suggestion. This was new. This was fresh air. This was the unofficial reading list of his fellow real-life crime fighters, he had a lot of catching up to do.

* * *

_ **Now** _

He should have known better than to think food would keep Tina quiet.

“Hobbs, man,” she says through a mouthful of chewy coconut, “you swore you weren’t gonna do it this month.” 

Hobbs steadfastly ignores her, checking his watch as he rummages through his desk drawer. If he doesn’t find it soon, he’ll be late, and he _hates _being late, both on principle and because Dot will never let him forget about it.

“You _said _you weren’t going to read at work this time,“ Tina reminds him. “You said you were going to use your downtime to catch up on paperwork like a dedicated public servant. You said, and I quote, ‘I’m not going to leave the dang thing on my desk again.’ You sa—” 

“You _could _just tell me where it is.”

“You mean where _this _is?” She brandishes the paperback he’s been searching for, and he rushes to her desk.

“Where’d you find it?”

“You left it by the coffee maker, so I commandeered it,” she says, handing it over. “For gloating purposes, not for reading. I don’t know how you read this crap.”

Hobbs hastily tosses the book into his reusable grocery tote, which is already stuffed with baked goods. “Crap is in the eye of the beholder,” he replies, “and life’s too short not to read whatever the heck you want. Those are words to live by, my friend.” Tina rolls her eyes, so he points at her and adds, “And don’t think I don’t know about what _you _read, Tina Tevetino! _And _I know that you ignore NSFW warnings and read it on your work computer. You might want to consider clearing your browser history every now and then.”

Tina’s mouth falls open in affronted surprise, but only for a couple of seconds. Then she shoves another cookie in and shrugs. “I’ve got nothing to hide. And I bet a fanboy like you has read a buttload of Sherlock Holmes fanfic.”

He’s only read a few, which is surely less than a buttload, but he doesn’t have time to argue. “Give the ol’ biddies my best!” Tina yells as he rushes for the door.

* * *

_ **Then** _

By the time Hobbs had locked up the sheriff’s station and hustled over to the Bergsberg Public Library’s annual book sale, the pickings were woefully slim. He should have guessed they would be—many of Bergberg’s senior citizens made a point of being there the moment the book sale opened. Hobbs had been hoping that a few stray Michael Connelly books might have escaped their ravening clutches, but no such luck. He did, however, find the next few Leaphorn & Chee mysteries on the regular library shelves, which put a little pep in his step as he headed for the circulation desk. The library manager, Maureen, looked up as he approached, and her harassed expression melted into a smile. 

“Hey there, Sheriff! Good to see ya.”

“Yeah, you too.” Now that he was closer, Hobbs could see that Maureen’s usually tidy fuschia hair had been twisted into wilting bun secured with a single wooden knitting needle, and her cardigan was askew, revealing the edges of a tattoo under her collarbone. “You doing alright there, Maureen?”

“Oh, I’m fine. It’s just book sale day—I’ve been run ragged since this morning.” 

“Ooof, I bet you have. I hope you’re getting a break soon.” Hobbs deposited his books on the desk and handed over his library card.

“Honestly,” she replied, scanning his card, “I’m just happy to be back at the desk, where I can sit.” She glanced at her computer screen. “Oh, hey, it’s looks like we’ve got the new James Lee Burke on hold for you! Gimme a sec, I’ll grab it from the cart.” She swivelled in her chair to look over the contents of a book cart behind her, and when she turned around, she held not only the promised new book, light reflecting off its crisp plastic jacket cover, but also a small, unassuming paperback. 

“You ever read any of this series?” The paperback’s creased cover was reinforced with clear mending tape, and the pages of its fore edge were worn soft. “It’s a small-town amateur sleuth kinda thing, so it’s a different vibe than your procedurals, but the main character teams up with a sheriff! Well, a sheriff’s deputy, mostly. But I figure you might like it, and...” Her voice grew wistful as she broke eye contact. “It’s not like I can recommend it to your deputy, since she never comes in here.” 

“Nah, not really her scene,” Hobbs agreed.

Maureen looked back up at him from behind her chunky-framed glasses. “Will you, um...tell Tina I said hi?” she asked, handing his card back and scanning his books.

Hobbs tried to hide the rueful slant of his smile. “Will do, Maureen. And I’ll give the book a try, too,” he added, placing the paperback on the desk.

“Fantastic! You be sure to come back and let me know what you think.”

He hadn’t intended to actually read the book—he’d only checked it out to make Maureen happy. But once he got it home, the cookies on the cover of the little paperback seemed to call out to him. Who was he to resist the siren song of fictional baked goods? He’d give it one chapter, just so he could tell Maureen that he tried

Later that night, approximately six hours after he began reading about baker Hannah Swensen and her giant orange cat, Hobbs turned the paperback’s final page. He blinked a few times, stretched his sore neck, opened the library’s catalog on his phone browser, and put the next five books in the series on hold. 

* * *

_ **Now** _

As Hobbs bursts into the library at precisely six-thirty, Maureen waves at him and nods toward the back of the building. Everyone else has already arrived, and they’ve begun setting up refreshments, but at least he’s not late. In fact, he can even spare a few seconds to catch his breath before he walks through the propped-open doors of the community room.

Bergsberg’s No. 1 Ladies Detective Mystery Book Club is not, demographically speaking, geared toward people like Hobbs; he’s at least twenty years younger than the other four members, and he’s the only man in the bunch. But after the revelation of his first cozy mystery (bless that Hannah Swensen), Hobbs had burned through more cozies at such an alarming rate that Maureen had suggested the book club as a place for him to find like-minded readers. And she’d been right—Jo, Aggie, Marsha, and Dot are all just as charmed as he is by small-town mystery stories that hinge not on a detective’s singular genius or a cop’s dogged pursuit of justice, but on an amateur sleuth’s instincts and knowledge of her community. They’d been surprised when he first showed up, but now they expect him at every meeting, and Dot ribs him relentlessly whenever he’s late.

“Oh, Sherlock! I’m so glad you’re here,” says Jo, placing one plump hand on his arm as he sets his bag down. “I know you’re off-duty, but it’s reassuring just to have you around, considering what happened to that _other _book club.”

In lieu of explaining the complicated truth about the other book club’s combustion, Hobbs gives Jo’s hand a little squeeze and reaches into his bag. “I brought scones!” he declares, depositing the container on the table with the other nibbles. “AND gluten-free macaroons,” he adds, before Marsha can protest.

“You spoil us,” says Marsha, nodding her thanks and adding two of the cookies to her already-loaded paper plate.

“Well now, Marsha, perhaps you could repay my kindness by giving me the recipe for those pecan blondies you make for the bake sale every year?” She always says no, but like all good detectives, Hobbs is perseverant.

“I’ll leave it to you in my will,” she tells him with a wink.

While Hobbs has been unloading goodies, Dot, nosy old gal that she is, has been rifling through the library returns in his bag. “Did you like this one?” she asks, plucking out a small book with a bright cover. 

“I tell you what, Dot, I wasn’t sure about it at first, because there was a lot in there about art that just went—” he _whooshes _his hand over his head, “—but that Ms. Penny really has a way with characters. I picked up that book as a buddy read with a friend in Washington, but I think I’ll keep reading the rest of the series on my own.”

Dot’s eyes light up as she senses potential gossip. “Oh, so your lady friend likes to read, too?”

Hobbs shakes his head. “Let me remind you _again _that she’s _Tina’s _lady friend, not mine. And also that she probably wouldn’t like being referred to as ‘lady friend’ at all.” Dot waves a hand dismissively, clearly unwilling to entertain such a notion. Hobbs is relieved when Aggie calls for them all to sit down and begin the discussion.

“Can you believe this is the twenty-first Miss Julia book?” she asks, waggling her copy of the book. “If this series were a person, she’d be old enough to buy a drink without our Sheriff Hobbs arresting her.” Aggie grins at him, and Hobbs grins back, popping a chunk of scone into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully, savoring the blend of substance and sweetness. This might be the best batch he’s ever made.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Any kudos or comments will be cherished, and feel free to find me on Tumblr to yell about DGHDA and the reading habits of fictional people.  
  
* * *
> 
> SHERLOCK HOBBS LOVES COZY MYSTERIES AND SUPPORTS HIS PUBLIC LIBRARY, thank you for coming to my TED Talk.
> 
> The book club ladies are named after Golden Age mystery queens: Dorothy L. Sayers, Agatha Christie, Ngaio Marsh, and Josephine Tey. 
> 
> Works and authors referenced:  
-Sherlock Holmes stories, Arthur Conan Doyle  
-Encyclopedia Brown series, Donald J. Sobol  
-Hercule Poirot mysteries, Agatha Christie  
-Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries, Dorothy L. Sayers  
-Jack Reacher series, Lee Child  
-Alex Cross series, James Patterson  
-Leaphorn & Chee mysteries, Anne and Tony Hillerman  
-Michael Connelly (I like to imagine that Hobbs was collecting the Harry Bosch series)  
-James Lee Burke (I imagine Hobbs would like the Dave Robicheaux novels)  
-_Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder_, Joanne Fluke (the book Maureen gives Hobbs)  
-The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series, Alexander McCall Smith (they named the book club after their favorite series)  
-_Still Life_, Louise Penny (the buddy read book; series first referenced in Farah’s chapter)  
-_Miss Julia Takes the Wheel_, Ann B. Ross (the book they discuss in book club)


End file.
